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Subject: Queen Mary Bell Boys Chapter 159 Queen Mary Bell-boys by badboi666 =============================================================================== If sex with boys isn’t your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you’ve come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex with 14-year-olds then make yourself comfortable – you’re in the right place. Don’t leave, however, without doing this: Donate to Nifty – these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. fty/donate.html =============================================================================== Chapter 159 When we got to Esau’s the next morning we knocked. “Come on in,” he yelled, “it’s open.” He was in a chair; there was no sign of Irving. “You look like a delegation,” he said. With an opening like that I wasn’t going to fail to use it. “You’re right, E, we come in peace. We come in love as well. In fact we come from Eros.” “Oh God, what are you up to, Patrick?” “We cannot speak of serious matters without libations.” “What the hell’s he on about, Charlie – it’s all Double Dutch.” Charlie said that I was just being silly, and all I wanted was a drink. “Why the hell didn’t he say so? The coffee’s through there. Get us three cups, please, Charlie. Mine’s black.” I decided to be serious. “Tell us about it, E. Jakey came home with us on Queen Mary after the War, and you were fine then.” “Fine! I’d just seen fucking Dachau. Did Jakey tell you about his nightmares?” We nodded. “Well, I had ’em too. Not the same, but horrible. Still do, fuck it. Fucking Germans.” He rubbed his leg. “What happened to your leg,” Charlie asked gently, “Jakey said it was a bike accident.” “That’s what they all think. But it wasn’t. It was no fucking accident.” He stopped, his face a picture of pain. Neither of us moved a muscle. “It was October 1945. Our unit was sorting out clearing rubble from a bombed bridge – well, we were telling the Germans what to do. No way we were going to do their dirty work. We’d been told we’d be home for Christmas – no big deal for a Jew, but still, home was home. I was told to ride to the next river bridge about three miles away to give some stupid message to the lieutenant there. On the way I passed a gang of four German lads with picks and shovels. There ought to have been a corporal in charge, but if there was he was invisible. Two of them, thinking they get even, stood in the road with their picks and I swerved round them. I damn near came off. Maybe if I had I wouldn’t be in this state now.” He rubbed his leg again. “They came running at me and I knew it could be nasty. I should just have ridden on my way, but one of them shouted ‘Juden schwein’. That got my goat. I knew enough Kraut to know what they were shouting and I saw red. After fucking Dachau too. I turned my bike – I haven’t told a living soul this, and I’m only telling you two because I’ll never see you again – and rode straight for them. I got one right smack on. My wheel went between his legs and he crumpled. Ten yards on I swung round and went for another one. This time they stuck a pick out and I went over the handlebars. Then the fucking corporal appeared – he’d been having a piss in the bushes. He got on his radio and a field ambulance eventually appeared. One dead Kraut and one crippled Jew. Not a bad haul.” “What happened then, Esau?” I said gently. “They fucked up my leg good and proper. A week later the medics took one look at it and I was rushed to a proper hospital. My leg went up the chimney – appropriate really, if you think about Dachau. My other foot was mangled too, so they chopped that off. I wasn’t home for Christmas, needless to say. When I did get back to the States the army spent months getting me fixed up with a new leg and a false foot. That was 20 years ago. Now I’ve got better bits, but they’re still fucking painful. That’s what you get for killing somebody once they’ve blown the whistle and said it’s all over now.” I had never heard anyone so bitter. I put my hand on his. “E,” I said quietly, “when we first met you in the soda fountain over 30 years ago you were a bright sparky kid. That sparky kid isn’t there any more. He had a hellish time in the War. But he didn’t go up ataköy escort a chimney; he didn’t get a bullet between the eyes like Chip; he didn’t drown when his ship was sunk like Andrew and Alan. He’s just deep inside you, wounded and desperate to get out. Listen to him, Esau, listen to the sparky kid who wants to be free.” Esau stared at me. “What a load of shit you talk, Patrick. How the hell do you know what’s inside me?” Charlie said quietly, “he doesn’t Esau, none of us can know. But there is maybe someone who deserves to have a try.” Esau turned his scorn on Charlie. “And who the hell is that, Charlie? Jakey’s been going on for years about getting me to see a shrink. Just because it sorted him out doesn’t mean I like the idea.” “Not a shrink, E,” I said, “someone much closer – someone who has ‘I love Esau’ written on his face in letters six inches high.” “Jakey.” “No, E, not Jakey. Irving.” “Irving? You’re mad, Patrick. He cleans me up and does all that nasty stuff, How the hell can he love me?” “How can he do all that if he doesn’t? Have you thought about that?” Rarely have I seen somebody pole-axed. He was silent for several minutes – we all were: this was a spell we dared not break. At last, “are you sure?” came in a whisper. “No, I’m not,” I said, “but it fits what we saw yesterday. Irving is devoted to you, Esau; whether he loves you I can’t tell. But I’d put a dollar or two on it.” At last – at long last – a smile appeared. Just the beginning of one, but there had been no smile at all before then, even the evening before. “I suppose Jakey told you I’ve had a succession of guys looking after me.” Charlie said that the fact that Esau had had plenty of boys before had nothing to do with it. “Do you fuck these boys?” I asked suddenly. That broke the dam. “I don’t fuck anybody and nobody fucks me. Who wants sex with a bitter fucking cripple?” I whispered the answer in his ear. “No-one. But Irving wants sex with the man he loves. The man who is broken whom he loves. The man who can be mended by his love.” Before he had time to say anything I added that Jakey was of the opinion that Esau and Irving were already at it. Esau snorted, “what the hell does he know?” “Charlie, will you mix us a martini? The stuff’s all in the kitchen. I need a drink.” Five minutes later, clear instructions about how Esau liked his martini having been issued, the three of us were raising our glasses when the door opened and Irving came in. “Oh hi, guys! It’s time I fixed lunch for Esau.” Lunch was delayed considerably that day. Charlie and I left an hour later, having some difficulty in tearing ourselves away from the puppy-like joy of Irving and the more mature, but equally happy, Esau. “Don’t tell the others, Patrick, Charlie, let it be our story,” said Esau, his smile now (with luck) permanently fixed. Irving said, “if you’re going to Jakey’s will you tell him to expect us all for dinner again? Harry will knock something up if you tell him. If he asks why -” “We’ll play all innocent, don’t worry,” I said, and then, because the car hire guy had said it to me (and at that time it was an expression new to me) I added, “have a nice day.” ***** George and Kevin had had a conducted tour of the sights of Kingston from Abe that morning. The law practice could evidently do without him for a few hours. The soda fountain where the Martians had first made contact (celebrated joyfully by Esau and Jakey, and revered by those of Fishbein Brothers who had not actually witnessed the close encounter), the barn, and there was a suggestion about a visit to Ashokan when ‘those two return with the car’. The martinis had been too powerful for the car to be a good idea, but the following day was a Saturday, so a plan for as many as wished to show the delights of Ashokan to George and Kevin was made. Abe went back to the office and we four headed back to the Best Western. I needed a lie-down before what promised to be a very memorable night – a need shared by (and with) Charlie. When we were naked together he turned to me. “Do you think Esau and Irving are up to no good yet?” I said I hadn’t the slightest doubt the not only were they up to it but had probably been up to it more than merter escort once. “You know what it’s like with somebody new.” “I don’t, love, because when the only one I’ve ever loved first got up to no good with me it was a few days before he did it again.” “True,” I whispered, “but I bet it was worth the wait.” I love it when he bites me as he did then – not hard, but enough to get me going. Up to no good – except that it was especially good – is what we were that afternoon as well. From the look on George’s face when we met them before going over to Jake’s up-to-no-good-ness had been occurring quite widely within the bedrooms of the Kingston Best Western that December afternoon. “Be careful, Kevin,” I said, “don’t give the poor bugger a heart attack.” George smiled. “My heart is constantly under attack, but has yielded, Patrick, thanks to you two.” ***** That evening could not have been more different from the one before. Apart from Esau and Irving and Charlie and me no-one had the faintest idea that anything was different, so when Irving pushed Esau’s chair in several minutes late there was no particular welcome. It was only when Jakey noticed Esau’s face that he knew that something had changed. One look at Irving’s face made him turn to me. “Is this your doing?” “No,” I said, “all we did was hold up a mirror. They did the seeing themselves. Jakey, I think Sarah ought to be here. Do you mind? She’ll be so happy – trust me.” “I’ve always found that trusting you makes sense, Patrick, even when I don’t want to. OK. Cy, will you go and fetch Sarah. Tell her her favourite Englishman has a date with her here, and don’t let her waste time. Harry hates keeping stuff hot. 20 minutes, OK?” Sarah appeared in much less that 20 minutes. She came straight up to me, her eyes gleaming. I nodded. “Oh, Patrick,” was all she could say. Jakey got her a drink. “I think I’m going to enjoy this,” she whispered. Esau and Irving made their announcement, Esau in his chair and Irving kneeling beside him. Sarah clapped her hands, “oh, I’m so happy. I would never have guessed I’d say that but, well, you’ve all been so happy, all my boys, and … oh, I wish Rueben was still here.” Cy and Jakey put their arms round their mother who was so enfolded by her sons that she was unable to hear Abe’s “about fucking time” to Esau, or to see Harry hug Irving and say “welcome to the fag Jew club: the water’s fine.” Irving looked a question at him, and Harry said, “nor am I, but in this house, who cares?” Later, much later, after Sarah had gone home, it was revealed that Irving, that honorary but inauthentic fag Jew, was, like Harry, possessed of a frill, thus allowing both Fishbein twins to enjoy such things to the full. I don’t think Kevin would ever forget that evening, not least because on the stroke of midnight (much alcohol having been taken on board by all those present, and a wager having been made) he agreed to show that since British teenagers had first visited those parts British teenaged bodies were no less delightful to look upon. And being duly admired, to be fondled, and being fondled with all-too-obvious results (despite the alcohol) to be invited to choose with whom he wished to be conjoined. “This is so hard,” he said, occasioning ribaldry from fag Jews (real or honorary), “Patrick and Charlie have trained me so well that I ought to show them how well I’ve learned their lessons -” (Cries of ‘get on with it’) “- but since tonight’s all been about who’s in love it has to be George. I love him and he loves me. It’s that simple, and that magical.” “Good boy!” cried Cy, “I know just you feel!” I have described fucks in the most strange of places, but the fuck that George gave Kevin that night on the floor of Jakey and Harry’s sitting room was among the most emotionally satisfying. In that room were, effectively, a couple on the first night of their honeymoon and three long-established pairs of lovers, all well-oiled, watching a middle-aged man and a boy of 16 still new to the love each felt for the other. I don’t know what was going through the minds of any of the others, but when I reached for Charlie’s hand and he grasped mine I knew that tears weren’t far away. Kevin was on his bahçeşehir escort back looking into George’s eyes with a look which exactly matched – I took a surreptitious look – the one on Irving’s face. The look didn’t change until Kevin came, holding his cock so that it streaked up onto George’s chest. “Oh fuck,” breathed someone, “that so fucking hot.” “So do it like that to me,” came the hushed reply. Kevin kept on giving, like any good 16-year-old, and George needed no more to make him cum deep, deep in the boy he loved – the boy on his back on the carpet – the boy whose spunk was running slowly down his chest as he drew in breath after coming – the boy onto whom he fell forward – the boy he kissed and kissed and kissed and onto whose face his tears were falling. “I love you,” said George, “and I’ll never let you go.” “Mmm,” murmured Kevin, replete, content, whole. I have no idea how the honeymoon couple spent the night, but I have no doubt that it was adventurous and highly satisfying, for when we called at 1000 it took two minutes for a very bleary Irving to open the door. “We’re off to Ashokan,” I said brightly, “but we don’t mind giving you a minute or two to hose yourselves down. Ashokan was magic that day. It was clear and bright, and you could see the far side of the lake as though it was within touching distance. I asked Jakey if any of them had visited since we’d all been there in 1936. “Oh yes, we came out here most summers. It wasn’t the same of course, but we swam until they stopped it.” “What do you mean?” asked Charlie. “You can’t swim in it now – it’s drinking water for New York.” This brought gales of laughter from those who had happily pissed in it many years before. “And not just pissed in it,” said Charlie, mindful that other fluids, or at least their residue, had made they way there on occasion. “What happened?” asked Kevin, aware that here was a historical site. We told him – at some length and in considerable detail. It’s always amused me when boys his age begin to realise that adults were once boys his age doing all kinds of irresponsibly wonderful things. Cy told him about the crocodiles. “So New Yorkers don’t mind drinking crocodile piss then?” said Kevin, entering into the spirit of things. George hugged him. As had been the case when we were there in early 1942, it was bitterly cold and I suggested that if the bar in Woodstock was still in business it might be fun to eat there. It was, and we did. Kevin, far too young to be allowed to drink beer, did so out of the large glass in which he’s been served Coke (the Coke had been surreptitiously poured away and the glass filled from George’s beer). “You’re just trying to get me drunk,” murmured Kevin, happy to be allowed to be wicked. “No need,” whispered George, “you sin delightfully even when you’re sober.” Irving, sitting between George and Esau, heard this and giggled. “I love the way you Brits understate everything,” he said. We drove back to Kingston – Charlie and George, Kevin and I in our hired car and the other six in a huge vehicle the likes of which none of us had seen before: it was like a chromium-plated shed on wheels. Irving had wheeled Esau up into the back and climbed in beside him. Cy drove off crying, “see you in the barn.” Charlie muttered that he hoped Cy had planned the afternoon well in advance because if he hadn’t the barn would be freezing. He had; it wasn’t. Kevin was made to sit on an old rug on a bale of hay and made to listen to stories of what had happened in that very spot long before he was born. “And you and Charlie were here, Patrick, doing all that?” “Yes, Kevin. The first time Tim and I were here was just before our 15th birthday, so this barn has witnessed boys far younger than you having fun.” The beer was speaking – Kevin’s, that is. “Can I have fun here too?” =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 160 as we party in the barn again and Irving crosses a line. The story is, of course, fiction, but the photographs in Queen Mary 2 are real, as are the details of the final voyage. I first saw the boys while making a transatlantic crossing in 2017, and had the pleasure of seeing them again in April 2019, smiling at the knowledge of all the things that had befallen them since I first saw them, and thought again how cute “I” was. I’m sure he had adventures in real life … Drop me a line at net – that is after you’ve dropped a few quid. =============================================================================

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